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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660349">I'll Come Back Stronger</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelGirl/pseuds/KestrelGirl'>KestrelGirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Body Horror, Illustrations, Mind Control, Mordrem (Guild Wars), Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Swearing, Sylvari (Guild Wars)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:27:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660349</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelGirl/pseuds/KestrelGirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mordremoth called, Morwenna broke. Geanais held fast. And Bláithín... simply got a few new tricks up their sleeve.</p><p>I've had this one written for a while. I figured I should finally post it.</p><p>Note: Bláithín - BLAW-heen - could absolutely care less what you call them. He, she, they, that bitch.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'll Come Back Stronger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Just my fucking luck. </p><p>
  <br/>
  
</p><p>I spend <em> years </em> running from the shackles I spent my Dream in, and as utterly poppycock as all <em> that </em> is, I wind up in them anyway.</p><p>My coat is in shreds, and faded badly by sunlight. Kind of a shame, considering it’s got so many trophies on it, but oh well. That’s not the primary issue at hand, <em> obviously. </em> The <em> actual </em>primary issue is that I’m pinned to a damn cliff face. Got grabbed by vines, like a rabbit or something getting snatched up by one of the local dinosaurs, and now I’m here. There’s some kind of pod dangling near me. It glows with magic in every color imaginable, but the thing itself is a sickly yellow-green.</p><p>I thought I was done growing once I got to the jungle, once my bark faded to a sickly pinkish white from its former brilliant rose, and started thickening into tough plates. I was wrong. I’m not used to this; I’m usually right.</p><p>My head hurts. It’s hard to think. There’s only a crushing presence telling me to obey its every whim. Shitty bargain, having an elder dragon for a grandfather.</p><p>Something’s… happening. The headache’s… getting worse. I could tell I was growing on the way here, but… this is different. I can see - and feel - the bark of my legs contorting and swelling. Little tendrils push their way out. I realize I’m trying to kick at the binds around them, which loosen to make way for whatever the hell just came out of me, and then everything’s hazy… </p><p><b>You </b> <b> <em>will</em> </b> <b> let me in.</b></p><p>Shut <em> up</em>, Mordremoth.</p><hr/><p>How long was I out? Not much sunlight down here to be able to tell, but after looking down at myself, I think it’s been a few days.</p><p>I haven’t eaten at all, that’s for certain; my stomach’s even more of a yawning pit than it was when the jungle dragon fueled my journey here. I feel like I shouldn’t be this thin, this <em> empty. </em></p><p>
  <b>Insides. Half vestigial. Half now unnecessary.</b>
</p><p>Be fucking quiet, <em> grandpa. </em></p><p>My bark clings to my legs. There’s no way it’s been <em> weeks </em> , is there? No, nothing else about my body changed. But I try to move, and my bark tears, even on my growth-swollen calves, spilling rivulets of sap and leaving gaping wounds. The pain is… there’s less than I’d think, somehow. However, I don’t exactly recall myself having <em> red </em> sap. What the… </p><p>
  
</p><p>It’s only now that I realize that my bark is starting to push against my coat, creeping through the slashes left by Nightmare-knows-what. Great. More of me getting all thick and woody. At least this part seems flexible, though considering I’m <em> pinned to a wall, </em> it’s going to be hard to test th-</p><p>Speak of the fucking devil. The next thing I know, I’m convulsing in <em> real </em> pain. There’s shards of something pressing their way between the vines around my wrists. By something, I mean bark. It’s like it didn’t have room to grow on me directly after all this shit happened. And I’m not sure where that enormous spike on my arm came out of, but it’s there now. There goes one of my biceps…? Ugh. Priorities. Now, how the hell do I get down?!</p><p>
  <b>Watch and wait.</b>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>Seconds pass like hours. Hours pass like seconds. It’s not like I can <em> sleep </em> like this, anyway, especially not with a headache that is now constant, and something squirming in my shoulders. Why my shoulders, anyway?</p><p>My very first lesson as a member of the Court was not to scream. So I haven’t. And who knows how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. In short, I’m not using my mouth. Something about my face has felt funny for a bit, but not like I can scratch the itch in <em> this </em> state. It’s only now that I realize why: my teeth are growing, forcing their way forward, and it’s to the point where I can’t keep my mouth shut. I can’t breathe through my nose anymore; something’s also grown over that. I must look ridiculous.</p><p>
  <b>Now, what do we say?</b>
</p><p>…thank you?</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>Ugh, dammit, <em> that’s </em> back again. This time it’s my shoulders that are swelling, thickening unnaturally yet still somehow flexible. So <em> that </em> was why- no, <em> this </em>was why. The growths have erupted into more fucking vines, crawling across my chest and back. Which is exactly what I needed right now. </p><p>On second thought, it <em> is </em> exactly what I needed.</p><p>I am a grandchild of Mordremoth. I should not have tried to fight destiny.</p><p>Now it all makes sense. <b>All will kneel.</b></p><p>As if summoned, another Mordrem Guard - one of my kin - strides past, and cuts me free.</p><p>I collapse on the ground, exhausted. And then I feel every emotion at once, as a surge of energy rushes through me, coalescing into an oddly shaped block of white stone that lands in my hands…</p><p>
  <b>Leystone. Use it.</b>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>In my newly blighted hands, it is a rifle. I always preferred to use knives. That doesn’t matter anymore. Its power courses through my body, leaking from my bark in strands of blue energy. Whatever the hell it shoots, it’s lethal. It’s beautiful.</p><p>Ready. Aim. Fire. For the dragon.</p><p>Ready.</p><p>Aim.</p><p>Fire.</p><p>Ready.</p><p>Aim-</p><hr/><p>How long have I been here?</p><p>
  
</p><p>The last thing I remember is being chained - <em> vined </em>, really - to that cliff, and then I’m not sure what happened. Whatever I did, though, I can’t say I’m feeling guilty about it. The past is the past. Perhaps I can learn from the experience.</p><p>It’s like my ears are ringing, but in my head. My <em> mind </em> rings, with the absence of a voice. Mordremoth’s voice. Is it… dead?</p><p>I should go home.</p><hr/><p>“Mordrem at the gate! … It’s just one. Might be a trap.”</p><p>“I swear on my <em>miserable</em> life it’s not.” </p><p>
  
</p><p>I’d think it’d be harder for me to talk. I guess I was chatting a lot during… whatever that was. My voice certainly sounds different. I’ll get used to it.</p><p>“Not a trap, eh? Well, if it looks like a Mordrem, but thinks like it isn’t…”</p><p>“How bad <em> do </em> I look, anyway?”</p><hr/><p>Well, fuck. It hadn’t really sunk in until now. I guess there’s no going back from looking like a corpse. But at least I get a ride home from the Pact.</p><p>The harder news is that Duchess Faolain is dead. Apparently, she went Mordrem too. Turned into some fucked-up mockery of a treant - and I thought I had it rough, eh? - then got taken out by the Pact Commander. Who went and finished off the jungle dragon itself after that; typical.</p><p>And the most difficult thing to adjust to is that half of Briarthorn followed me into Maguuma, except they were stupid and got themselves killed. When I finally return, it’s a ghost town.</p><p>But I have ideas, ways to sway more to our cause. And I know one knight in particular who I’m <em> certain </em> didn’t follow the call. Meaning that he’s waiting for me. </p><p>Well, what a sight I’ll be.</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>Fachtna gazes up at me. He didn’t have to look up, before all this happened. <em> He </em> used to dwarf <em> me. </em></p><p>I can see his eyes go wide, under the growth that silenced him for good and brought him under the Court’s sway all those years ago. His muffled breath quickens, and he bows as I place my tendril-wrapped hands on his shoulders.</p><p>He’d only do that for me.</p><p>“Don’t worry, darling,” I reassure him lovingly. “I’m still the same <em> little flower.</em>”</p><p>
  
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